A Different Kind of Blond
by SassyJ
Summary: Drabbly thing that came to me in the wee small hours... a different kind of love
1. A Different Kind of Blond

The sunlight spills in through the window, the curtains flowing gently in the breeze. The warm beams fall across the bed, Raylan stretches himself. He's face down, arms beneath the soft squishy pillow, cheek buried in the cool expensive linen, eyes still closed because this is bliss. He's on holiday. True this isn't quite how he pictured it, but still, it's perfect, and he doesn't want to move, or open his eyes just yet.

A hand moves, slowly down his spine, a finger dips lower, index he thinks, ghosting the very fine hairs down his back. Raylan's smile widens, his eyes remain closed, but he pushes his hips up, arching his back like a cat.

For a fraction of a second, the finger makes contact with the sun-warmed skin of his back. Raylan can feel it there. Like a little brand. If he thought about it, he could sense the unique ridges of that finger print, it's etched on his soul.

He nudges his cheek into the pillow a little more firmly. Outside the day is beginning and he lies there in the sun, just absorbing the barely there touches on his back, and combines them with the sounds outside. He wants to imprint this on his memory forever, because Raylan screws up relationships and he wants this one to be eternal.

So he maps the hand's movement with his senses as it skips and ghosts over his naked back. The tender touch, on his shoulder, the two fingers that glide softly down his spine again, the slightest pressure, two lips, against his almost completely healed wound. Knife, came close to ending his life, under his ribs, close by his spine.

Two hands that fought to save him. He doesn't think he's ever meant that much to someone before.

Raylan turns his face into the pillow, breathes in the scent of soft fresh linen, and then faces the owner of the hand, those hands... He opens an eye, slowly, peering beneath his lashes. The hand settles in the small of his back, and Raylan pushes up again into the touch, reveling in it.

"Hey." His lover's voice is a little croaky, Raylan spent a delicious few hours the previous night driving his lover out of their collective minds, it's a good thing their tiny little 'honeymoon' cottage is set well away from the others, and the walls are very thick. Their neighbours might have had cause for complaint.

"hey yourself." Raylan finds that his own voice is definitely croaky, he turns, reaching out, his arm slides around a narrow waist, two arms reach out and gently pull him in, he's being cradled against a firmly muscled chest, and he rests his forehead against a broad and powerful shoulder. He feels cherished, which brings a big girly lump to his throat, perhaps he's not as over being stabbed as he thought he was, but it's a nice feeling. A new feeling.

One hand caresses the place, and Raylan burrows in. He loves this, never suspected this about himself. Never realized that there was a different kind of blond until now.

Now he can't let go, he keeps talking to a minimum, doesn't want to make a mess, screw this up. The hands, the arms, the chest, the gentle kisses that he can't ask for but can't get enough of.

His different kind of blond.

Tim Gutterson closes his arms more firmly around his lover, and plants a gentle kiss against the top of the dark head burrowed against his shoulder. He's always known this about himself, but a lifetime's wariness and a suspicious military kept it under wraps.

His hand gently smoothes the puckered, mostly healed wound, he came so close to losing him forever. He drops another gentle kiss, and his lover responds. Tim can feel the flick of soft lashes against his shoulder, lips pressing themselves over the scar there. His own mostly healed wound.

The paramedics, and his boss and co-workers all think that Tim saved Raylan's life that night. Hell, even the citation and the medal sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk says that, but Tim still thinks it was the other way round. Raylan's need awoke something in Tim, and a desire to take a chance for the first time in his life.

It's love. Real, true love.

But a different kind.


	2. In Golden Sunlight

Tim settles himself comfortably into the soft linen sheets, and cradles Raylan against him. The cowboy is still healing, and needs careful monitoring. He knows his lover isn't asleep, but Raylan is savouring every second of the warmth of the sun and the being together that this affords them. Tim lets him.

As soon as he could wobble to his feet, Raylan had checked himself out of the hospital, despite Art and Winona and lots of other people shouting at him. Tim got it, he had his own wound to deal with, but Raylan's injuries had changed his life, and Tim gets it. Raylan needs to be anywhere but there.

They go to the Travel Agency, where the very nice assistant takes one look at Raylan and wonders out loud if he'll actually make the flight. Tim can hardly blame her, Raylan's skin tone is grey and he looks so damn tired and thin that Tim feels about twenty pounds heavier just looking at him.

Tim's tired too. He knows he's got six weeks of medical leave and possibly a ton of rehabilitation for his shoulder.

Where do they want to go?

Raylan wobbles to his feet, the assistant looks like she's ready to catch him if he falls, and Tim shakes his head in bewilderment. Raylan heads to the large map of Italy on the wall. "Here." He stabs a finger at what appears to be an island. 

"Ischia?" The assistant sounds doubtful.

"Ischia." Says Raylan.

So the assistant checks it out. It's an island in the bay of Naples, it's volcanic, has hot springs, _good for Tim's shoulder._ Tim privately thinks it would be good for Raylan's injuries too, but knows that's not why Raylan has chosen this place. There's a look of determination in Raylan's eyes, so Tim doesn't question. That can wait.

He mentally reviews his bank balance. He can make it, if they don't eat out every single night, he can afford this for them. Tim's pulling out his bank card, ready to pay, when Raylan digs into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulls out a roll of dollars.

The whole ticket, and then some.

Tim stares, because he has no idea where Raylan has gotten the money from, then he realises, the nine weeks that Raylan has been in the hospital, this is the first down payment on the disability pay-out.

It hits Tim then like a freight train that the cowboy marshal is no more. Raylan's career has ended.

There was a time when people feared for Raylan's life, but this? Tim realises in that moment that he has absolutely no words for this man, but he's going to hold on the best that he can.

Raylan knows he's messed up. That he will have to be careful for the rest of his life, and that his career as a Marshal is over. He's lost a kidney and his spleen, knifed in the back and then shot three times, he knows he's incredibly lucky to still be alive. That it was Tim, badly injured himself, who fought to keep him alive.

He curls into Tim's arms, celebrating the still being alive part in his head, listening to the sounds of movement outside. In a little while they'll get up and wander down to the market, do battle with the phrase book, even though Raylan has managed to get the "questi, per favore" bit down flat. Pointing at what he wants to buy. Tim laughs at his pronunciation. But the stallholders get it, even if they do look puzzled for a moment or two, so Raylan feels a little proud of himself that he can ask for something in a foreign language. The teasing is very gentle.

Tim carefully eases away and sits up. The morning market is one of the highlights so far, so they should get moving. He reaches for the little medication bottles by his side, doles out Raylan's doses and gives his partner a nudge. "Ray…"

He feels rather than hears the huff, but Raylan eases himself into a sitting position and takes the pills. He could sort his medication himself, but Tim likes to take care of him, and Raylan accepts that.

Something else that's new, someone who cares without wanting something in return. Raylan's getting his head around that one. Working out that this is a two way street, it's where he's gone wrong before. Tim's even helping him to be a better father.

Raylan smiles, and pads to the shower, he never expected to be here, but this is the best thing that ever happened to him, other than his daughter, and he's going to try and do it right this time. For everyone's sake.


	3. Life Squared

Tim and Raylan wander down to the market, the sun still low in the sky. They're both country boys who have seen a lot of fruit farms in their lives, but the Italian fruit is spectacular, the peaches huge and golden and so soft and juicy they melt messily in the mouth, the melons smell so good and rich.

Raylan points to a pile of golden peaches, "questi, per favore", he sticks two fingers in the air and waves at the peaches again. The stall holder looks puzzled for a moment, then catches Raylan's country accent, _ah…_ The stall holder smiles, and unleashes a torrent of Italian. What little Tim has gleaned from the phrase book and the CD that he picked up before they left struggles to keep up. But there's something comforting about this melodious language, and Raylan nods as though he understands.

Maybe the sentiment, and not the words.

Two big juicy peaches, and a melon, they wander on down to the harbor, stopping for an ice cream on the way. Tim wonders if Raylan's choice of Ischia is because the Italians really, really know ice cream. Raylan's even ditched his beloved vanilla on occasion, the gloriously coloured cone in his hand is green and red with a little orange on top, rapidly disappearing as Raylan swipes it with his tongue.

Tim has declined the ice cream in favour of something a little more substantial as it is just about breakfast time. Coffee can wait, as they walk to the boat. A trip to Capri.

[][][][][][][][]

They step off at the harbor and Tim casts an eye over the available options to ride up to Anacapri at the top of the island. Raylan is still too thin, and barely healed, Tim walks next to his partner, keeping pace with him while trying not to appear to be ready to support him.

Raylan is more scared than he's ever going to admit, his life has changed and this is hard for him. _Life change_. Those were just words until they arrived on the island.

So Tim walks side by side with him, matching his stride imperceptibly to Raylan's, while pretending he cannot hear the increase in the rasp in Raylan's breathing as the injuries to his body continue to make themselves felt.

Tim buys the tickets, "andate e riturno, due per favore." Questi won't do here, and Raylan just lets Tim take over, an amused smile on Raylan's face. There was a time that Tim would have called Raylan on that expression. But now, any smile will do.

They step off the funicular together, and wander through the cobbled streets, there's a viewing point where you can look down over the island, and Tim instinctively knows that Raylan is reaching the limit of his strength. He feels a pang of sorrow that the older man will get better, but will never be as good as he once was. That the former cowboy marshal's health is forever compromised by events that were completely beyond his control.

Raylan breathes, trying to control that moment when he knows he is going to show weakness. Hating it. But loving his partner all the more for the younger man's silent and gentle support. He doesn't know where he would be, or how he would cope without Tim's help. It's strange. Love came and found them, it's something Raylan never really knew about himself, but it seems right.

He almost stumbles, but Tim's hand is under his elbow, and for a second or two, Raylan leans in, taking it for what it is. Comfort.

Tim leaves his hand under Raylan's elbow, the older man is tiring, even though their stroll through the market was slow, Raylan's been on his feet too long for his still healing body. He's still trying too hard to fight the limitations that his new circumstances are imposing on him.

Tim guides his lover gently to the olive grove, they sit a while under the trees, idly picking their way through the fruit from the market and the olives Tim bought at the market stall.

Raylan quietly stretches out, wanting this moment to go on forever.


	4. Vesuvio

Tim cracks the lid on the small juice bottle, and puts the straw in. It's been three days since he awoke to Raylan sweating, shivering and barely conscious next to him. The resort swiftly found him a doctor, who arranged for Raylan's immediate transfer into hospital on the mainland.

Raylan's new doctor and the nurses are kindness and efficiency itself. Something that slightly surprises Tim, he had heard a lot about Italian chaos and inefficiency. They're keeping Raylan in. Encouraging Tim to spend as much time with his lover as possible, it's very different from the US.

The building is old, but immaculately clean; Raylan's bed is by the window, he can see Vesuvius, the doctor explains in his faultless and barely accented English that a view can inspire a patient in Raylan's condition, it can give them something to aim at in their recovery.

Tim's not entirely sure what the volcano will do for Raylan, but it seems surprisingly comforting, and strangely appropriate given Raylan's capacity for anger.

There's the question of tickets, and costs and all sorts of other things, but Tim wants Raylan to stay where he is being so well cared for. That's a comfort to both of them. One of Raylan's nurses handles Tim's accommodation, the retrieval of their belongings from the resort who so carefully packed up everything, they even send a basket of fruit. Tim finds himself charmed by the Italian people without really meaning to be.

His new accommodation is a small studio apartment ten minutes walk from the hospital. It's tiny, clean, neat and very inexpensive. Which is a relief to Tim, his own funds are not able to stretch to anything fancy. He's fallen on his feet too, Raylan's doctor has arranged for Tim's physiotherapy for his injured shoulder, so that Tim will not fall behind. Everyone has been wonderfully kind and helpful.

"Hey." He startles from his reverie, Raylan's awake. The older man is very weak, and he's been very, very sick; his body is not able to cope by itself with infection, even the slightest illness is risky, he's hooked up to i.v.s and monitors, nearly as pale as the crisp white sheets he's lying on.

Tim gently holds the bottle and Raylan sips a little through the straw. There's a small fridge with a supply of juices and yoghurts, that's replenished daily, Tim's encouraged to help his partner eat and drink, and hopefully regain some of his strength.

It's a measure of how exhausted Raylan is that he just lets Tim feed him without even the slightest hint of embarrassment. Tim finds himself coaxing Raylan to eat and drink, and wonders at his own capacity for caring this much.

They're both still trying to figure things out, but Tim knows that Raylan won't be flying anytime soon. Truth be told, he doesn't actually want to go back himself. Somewhere between the kindness of the locals, and the long-term prognosis that is cautiously optimistic, they seem to have found safe harbor and Tim isn't sure he wants to go back to his old life and job again. Raylan will get better here. That's what counts.

Perhaps the truth is that he's finally tired of bearing arms. There's a little voice in his head telling him that he can put the burden down. It's time.

Raylan's lying on his side, arm folded under the pillow, raising his head a little. He's staring at the volcano. "almost feels like home," he whispers.

Something tells Tim that they've already decided.


	5. Avanti

Chief Deputy Rachel Brooks steps off the bus and looks around in disbelief. Of all the places they could have wound up she really does have a hard time getting her head around this one. The bus stop is more of a layby, she can see several fruit vendors, and a small van selling ice cream, but no errant former deputy marshals.

"Damn, it's hot." Her old retired chief's voice practically echoes in her ear, "do you see them?"

Rachel tries not to notice the grumpy tone in Art's voice. Lesley wanted the trip and Rachel decided to come with them, because Tim and Raylan were not coming back Stateside anytime soon. When Tim resigned, accompanied by a very long and detailed Doctor's letter that indicated that they were uncertain of Tim's long term ability to handle a rifle due to the damage to the bone, Rachel had been stunned.

She pulls herself together and looks around. "Not yet I don't."

"RACHEL!" yells a voice.

Rachel spins round, Tim is walking towards them. She stares. He's lean and fit, which he always was, but now he has a deep tan, his blue eyes seem bluer, and when he takes his cap off, his neatly cropped hair has been bleached a lighter shade of gold by the sun.

He pulls her in for a hug, which is also quite new on the Tim front, he wasn't particularly tactile before. She's surprised but she returns his hug with a fervor of her own. Rachel realized already that she has missed them, until Tim was there in front of her she hadn't really understood how much.

They break apart, and Tim greets Art and Lesley, Rachel is glad to see that Art's grumpiness has dissipated at the sight of Tim. She figures that Art was always fond of the sniper. No, the big mountain they have to climb is Raylan. Speaking of whom…

Rachel scans the stop, "where is he?"

Tim grins. "Working."

She remembers that grin. The way the blue eyes sparkle, makes Tim look the young guy that he is, without all the war zone input and sniping and the death and destruction that brings. He's still the battle-hardened veteran, but there's a lightness to him that is new.

Tim's picking up their bags, and indicating his own vehicle.

Art and Rachel are used to the grungy mess that was Raylan's personal vehicle, the old green pickup, but Tim was always one for immaculate cars. The Land Rover he's leading them to has definitely seen better days.

Art looks at the truck, looks at Tim and shakes his head in disbelief. Apparently his errant former deputy's ways have rubbed off on his youngest. "Tim…"

The former sniper smirks a little. "Not actually my vehicle, and it ain't Raylan's either… Couldha picked y'all up in our car, but don't think y'all an' y'luggage would fit."

They climb in, and Tim goes through a routine that puzzles them, but the old truck seems to understand it, as it bursts into life.

The vehicle is smooth enough, despite it's obvious advanced age, but the interior is Spartan to say the least.

Art's more than a little surprised to see signs to Pompeii, and says as much. "We both work there," says Tim. Both Rachel and Art stare. "We kinda fell into it. By accident."

The familiar puzzled look crosses Art's face. "How exactly do you fall into working on an archaeological dig? Especially you two." If there's the tiniest hesitation before he says the word two, the others pretend not to notice.

"You just kinda join, and then they like you and you stay." Tim says simply. Not the whole truth, but accurate. Especially when your lover's doctor's brother takes you to lunch the day before your lover's released from hospital, and things just snowball from there. They have their visas, and so far they haven't looked back.

Tim pulls the truck up in a gap between a very small bright yellow car and a grey Audi, behind a group of temporary buildings that are obviously for the workers.

Rachel, Art and Lesley follow Tim as he heads in the direction of the front entrance. They pass a dark haired, shirtless man with a hard hat and wheelbarrow.

"Antonio, dove si trova?" Tim calls.

"Tim, your accent, she is horrible." The Italian grins, and waves his hand "dove si trova." His version is said without the country boy twang that Tim still has. "And Ray is over there." He waves a hand.

"They call him Ray, seems they can't really get their tongues around Raylan."

Art stares straight ahead, now that he's here he really isn't sure. Things between him and Raylan were real bad. Then Raylan was knifed and shot, and for weeks they didn't know if he would even make it. Art regrets letting the sun set upon his anger, but he couldn't see a way past the hurt.

Now he's here, and up ahead of him he can see a group of people, tourists, and a familiar cowboy hat. The group starts to break up, and as they move away, Art gets the first sight of Raylan Givens that he's had in fifteen months.

The cowboy is perhaps a little underweight, but he's deeply tanned like Tim, and he looks good.

Raylan's hair is long, he's nodding and smiling at something an older lady is saying to him, and he lifts the hat, Art gets a view of the ponytail. A year ago, that would have made Art crazy, but he's so relieved to see Raylan alive and on his feet, his anger melts away.

Raylan looks up and sees them, and Art's heart breaks just a little at the wary expression which crosses Raylan's face before it's smoothed away. Art steps forward, going in for the hug. There's no hesitancy now, and Art feels another little pang as he realizes that his estimate that Raylan is underweight is correct, and that this is about as good as it is going to get for the cowboy.

He pushes back a little, his hands on Raylan's shoulders, "you a tour guide?"

The look in Raylan's eyes speaks volumes. "Yeah, they seem to like me!"

There's something on the tip of Art's tongue to mention the absence of guns, but shooting is too raw a subject for either of them now.

Rachel pulls Raylan close. She can feel the weight loss, but otherwise the cowboy seems healthy. She knows that it's Raylan's doctor, and Tim's gentle care that keep Raylan's health in check. Even as they are getting reacquainted, Tim produces a couple of tablets and a glass of water. Raylan takes them without fuss, the look in his eyes so loving, Rachel wipes away an errant tear.

She takes a moment to compose herself, watching Art and Raylan warily get reacquainted.


End file.
